


Held

by jeffcatson



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (incidental) tentacles, Bondage, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, M/M, all kinds of orgasm-focused sex, fantasies of control, fantasies of forced orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeffcatson/pseuds/jeffcatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first time, it's mostly the analytical, observational part of Carlos' mind that reacts." First-time bondage scenes, plus fluff and introspection. </p><p>Though Carlos is getting used to Night Vale, being with Cecil still feels new, and unexpected, and quite unlike any relationship he's had before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Held

1.

The first time, it's mostly the analytical, observational part of Carlos' mind that reacts.

He's spread out on the bed, Cecil moving inside him and several tentacles gently holding him up and open, the wet tips of two more working over his cock. Cecil's hands are stroking up and down his thighs, and then Cecil hooks his thumbs around Carlos' wrists, winds each of his fingers one by one around them, holds firmly, holds his gaze.

Carlos notes Cecil's mischievous half-smile and quirked eyebrow, and behind that, a look of complete alertness that he knows means he's ready to backtrack immediately if needed. He notices his own breathing hitch, then stutter, and realises that he's suddenly very aware of his pounding heart. There's a warm, bright flush like woken-up nerve endings spreading down his neck and across his chest, and a new, shy, excited thrill rushing through him, and then quite suddenly there's a very small, faraway part of his brain that's registering Cecil looking down at him in surprise and delight as everything else turns to blazing white light, his back arches off the bed, and he shudders in Cecil's tight hold.

2.

'Put your hands up for me, love. Hold on to that bar on the headboard - yes, there. Is that comfortable?' - Carlos shifts his hips a little - 'Lovely. Can you keep them there for me?' Cecil's grinding against his thigh, long fingers ghosting over his cock and behind his balls, touching soft lips to Carlos' forehead, then breaking out into a grin. 'Tell you what. How about - if you move them, I stop. Is that okay?' Carlos readjusts his grip, wriggles his shoulders and nods.

Later, he's twitching and squirming all over the bed as he's spread with Cecil's elbows, chased by tongue and fingers and warm, open mouth. He's loose, shuddering, feeling as though he might shake himself apart were it not for that blazing contact between his slippery palms and the cool metal, earthing sensations that he's genuinely concerned might overwhelm him. Tentacles hold up his thighs, Cecil's fingertips are stroking and kneading against him as he swallows him down again and again, and Carlos' whole world is those fingers, that mouth, and his own hands frozen on the headboard.

Knees supported, ribs pushed up, head tilted back and gasping, it occurs to Carlos that were his hands really fixed to the bed, there'd be absolutely nothing he could do about this. He wouldn't be able to get away, to take a break or to stop this altogether - he can feel that Cecil working over him is steadily driving him closer and closer to coming and, were he really trapped, he'd have no choice in the matter, nor even in the pace. He glances down to see his partner watching him, and is suddenly absolutely certain that Cecil knows this too, and that he's felt his cock pulse and harden and seen his face redden with that idea.

He _knows_ \- Carlos can't hide this, not at all, he's laid out and open under Cecil and he's out of control, his stomach is turning over as though he is twenty years younger and there's a hot, red rush of embarrassment all mixed up in there; it's confusing and scary and Cecil is still steadily watching him and then he's coming so hard and all at once, shock after shock breaking over him and there's nowhere in his body for all that orgasm to go so he opens his mouth and _screams_ , the walls are moving, he's out of air and he gasps in a long breath and is surprised that it's now only a low, broken moan that comes out. He's dimly aware of Cecil stroking aftershocks along his thighs and belly, and Carlos is spent and boneless, time doesn't work, and now his partner is moving up to plant kisses along his chest and into his armpit, lining up their bodies and pulling over blankets. Carlos turns to bury his face in Cecil's hair. His hands are still on the bar.

3.

There were a lot of things he hadn't expected to find in Night Vale when he first took on this assignment. After well over a year, and the bowling alley, and Dana, and meeting the angels (who only lie, and also do not exist, he added automatically), Carlos at least thinks he may be reaching a Night Valian level of feeling, well, chilled-out about the latest plague of menacing, slow-moving lawn furniture or sudden rain of (entirely harmless, and rather surprised-looking) scorpions. The only element of the town that still really blasts him out of his comfort zone - more so even than having to cancel dinner to save the town _again_ , is Cecil.

Of course, he's dated plenty: there were the men from the local gym, who fucked as though they were sparring on the mat, all sweat and urgency and pent-up energy exploding outwards. Carlos had loved to match them, wrestling all over the bed in a mass of swinging limbs that left them both mussed and panting. There were the guys from his university courses, they'd stay up into the night bouncing ideas around about quasars or dark matter and take the calculations bigger, higher, till they were both reeling in astounded joy at the universe's vastness and their insignificance within it. They'd fall into bed exhausted and hold tight to each other, digging in fingernails painfully as if to say _I'm here, you're here, I've got you_ , grind and gasp together in the darkness and fall asleep tangled. Cecil, though. Cecil is new. Carlos suspects there's no one quite like him in existence.

Carlos isn't used to talking about sex - he's always been content to just go for it, he'd follow his partners' lead, they'd improvise as they went along and he's never felt the need to explore much more, really. Yet now there's Cecil, whose frank questions and sly, flirtatious suggestions and disarmingly specific feedback have suddenly left Carlos feeling surprisingly shy. Cecil, who is femme right down to his bones and who wears his self-assurance surrounding him like flowing silk; who keeps Carlos grounded with a steady stream of quiet narration even as he methodically dismantles all his carefully-constructed cool; who cheerfully sends Carlos to select the cock he'll be taking that evening from the neatly arranged selection of bright silicone on the shelf, while he watches, grinning, from the bed. (Carlos likes to match the colour to Cecil's nails that day: it is mesmerising to watch as he slicks himself up, light reflecting equally from sparkling polish and sleek silicone.)

The first time they'd fucked, Cecil had asked Carlos to wrap a hand around his tidy plait, right up to the back of his head, as he ground him down into the bed. Cecil had reached back, adjusted Carlos' grip the tiniest bit, and then positively _melted_ into the mattress, words slurring into incoherent squeaks, and Carlos had been so captivated that he completely forgot to be hesitant or to analyse things or second-guess himself, and could only focus on not stopping at any cost.

He keeps thinking that he should be more afraid. After all, people die in Night Vale all the time, and since the bowling alley he's careful to not put important things off any longer, and he's not quite sure when or how he switched from studying the town to being the first port of call tasked with saving the place from threats, but there are times in the hours before dawn when he remembers Brooklyn and LA, and Night Vale seems like the safest place he's ever known, and there are times when it's all he can do to cling, shaking, to Cecil as his partner quietly strokes hands and limbs over his shoulders and through his hair, murmurs to him with that voice.

Cecil has tattoos like he's never seen before, mauve standing out over dark brown, occasionally-freckled skin, and he swears he can sometimes see them glow and shift out of the corner of his eye; he's sure he occasionally glimpses his tentacles wrapping around him while they're walking, though no-one nearby seems to notice; there's a staticky him over Cecil's forehead sometimes when he's working and his voice relaxes Carlos right down to the marrow regardless of the horrors he's reporting; when did all this become so routine?

Carlos watches Cecil breathing as the sky lightens and wonders if he'll ever be able to show him the ocean, or around Boston, or if either of them will ever date anyone else again. Cecil is Night Vale's Voice, he may disappear into the subway for years (and emerge remarkably chipper), but ultimately he's as unchangeable and immovable as the desert sands, and as for Carlos - well, the town loves him. He suspects the town loved him from the day he arrived, knowing there'd be no decision he'd ever make but to stay, regardless of funding. There's something in that about Cecil's love, and the town's love, that he's carefully not going to think about too hard just yet. One day at a time. Carlos curls up close and imagines the apartment they'll furnish together, fluffy neon cushions up against thick textbooks and old photographs, brewing coffee in the chilly early mornings.

4.

Cecil brings out wide, padded cuffs in lurid shades of pink and orange, and throws one to each corner of the bed, where Carlos feels them connect with a satisfying thump. They fuck normally - no, they fuck in a way that's statistically common to them, Carlos thinks, but it's never ordinary - Cecil in his lap with limbs wrapped close around him, hands buried in his hair and gasping into his neck as he moves, ragged breaths forming the occasional "beautiful" and "perfect" and his name, again and again. He is intoxicating, and, even so, Carlos finds his attention drifting to the cuffs, heavy and solid as they're bounced around the bed.

The next time, Cecil ties Carlos spreadeagled and asks him to try and escape - "it's okay, you won't damage the bed" - then watches, quiet and calm, as Carlos pulls on the bonds, cautiously at first, then really going to town as he realises they'll hold, shaking the bed back and forth and banging it into the wall. He finishes breathless, sweating, and feeling more safe and enclosed than he's ever felt in his life.

"Any time you want out, any reason at all, you just say "stop", or "hang on a second", or something like that, right? Or I'll check in if it looks like you're not enjoying things. My priority here is your having fun, okay?" - "Okay" - "and a quick break doesn't mean we have to stop, either, we can easily go back to this, or do something else, or anything else you'd like. Got it?" Yes. Yes. Carlos looks up along his whole body and wonders if anyone has ever been in love like this, and as Cecil tosses his plait out of the way and carefully lowers himself down onto him, Carlos' fingertips find the ropes that tie the cuffs to the bed, and hold on tightly.

5.

Carlos is dreaming about a dark planet lit by no sun: he's attempting to take samples from the planet's crust, and he doesn't understand why his arms won't work. The planet is dissolving into shapes that resemble the swirls of Cecil's tattoos, and then it's early morning and Cecil is sitting down carefully on the end of the bed, two coffees in hand.

"Morning, love. How are you feeling?" His voice is carefully neutral, ready to listen, Carlos notes, and he sleepily prods at his brain. "Um... great. Brilliant. Thank you. I mean, thank you for, uh, last night, that was great." Cecil passes him coffee. "Talk more about it later, yeah?" "Yeah. Sounds -" - he lets out an enormous yawn, damps down the next one with coffee - "sounds brilliant. Your turn next time, if you'd like?" Cecil beams, slides up into the bed and rests his head on Carlos' shoulder. The sun rises.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm rather new to all this, and all are welcome to come and huddle on [my Dreamwidth.](http://alreadystardust.dreamwidth.org/)


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